They had snuck out of Grimmauld Place without being noticed since everyone was in the dining room eating. She hadn’t wanted to use the Floo Network. Truthfully, he hadn’t either. He had spent a month away from anything to do with the Dark Lord and the Ministry of Magic, and that was how he wanted to keep it. Both organizations were watching the Network as it was, and he was certainly not ready to give up his location as a result of a casual nighttime stroll. The two ended up walking down the muggle streets of London in the setting sun’s light just as the street lamps clicked on. The couple saw quite a few people dressed up in various costumes, of different creatures and historical persons, making their way to parties, pubs, and clubs. Draco asked if she wanted to go to one, but she shook her head no, telling him she just wanted to get some coffee or something.

The coffee house near Kings Cross in which the two found themselves was just what they needed. Draco sat with his ankle crossed over his knee, holding hot coffee in one hand while he rested his chin in his other palm. His elbow rested on the table near the wall. He watched Ginny sip the hot latte as she finally began to calm down. He ignored the blond locks that fell partially over his silver eyes -- he hadn't had his hair trimmed in ages -- as she set down the white paper cup. He silently pondered his detestation of the fact that they were at a muggle coffee shop and had paid with muggle money. The muggle money had been the worst. For the first time in his life, Draco hadn’t the money to pay for anything, for he obviously didn’t have muggle money. So Ginny had paid for their coffees instead. He stared at her cup now, thoughtfully, as he breathed in the scent of coffee beans. On it was a round logo depicting a twin-tailed siren with her flowing hair covering her chest.

“It’s rather seductive, isn’t it?” said Ginny, following his gaze.

“Pardon?”

“The logo for the shop,” she answered, watching his eyes as she spoke, “A siren, in the style used here,” she indicated the paper cup by picking it up slightly, “is the embodiment of lust and desire. The beautiful body of the woman alone is seductive, but according to Greek myth, the voice of the siren seduced sailors as well, and they were hoodwinked into following her to their deaths. It’s fascinating really, especially when used for a coffee chain in modern times,” she finished, taking another drink of her beverage. He looked at her awkwardly, not knowing what to say. “You learn a few things from muggles; maybe you should try to get to know some of them,” she shrugged.

“I do not associate with muggles.”

“Except for now, of course. Plus, don’t you think it would be helpful at least to get along considering what the Ministry is considering for after the war has ended?” she said with a small smirk.

“What exactly are they considering?"

The heel of her palm hit her forehead and then fell to her lap. “I'm sorry; I forgot. Whenever Professor Lupin is able to be back at Grimmauld Place rather than with Fenrir Greyback’s lot looking for information, he and Dad catch up on political business and such. I forgot you haven’t been there,” she explained. “After the war, they’re talking about integrating our world and the muggles’ world,” she told him.

“Are they serious?” he asked incredulously. Ginny nodded. “It won’t work. There are too many people afraid of being exposed to muggles. Think about how some people treat muggle-born children. You think I was mean to Hermione about her heritage? That was nothing.”

She shrugged before answering, “I doubt it will happen. But just imagine the freedom if it did! I mean, that alone would be worth the effort required to make it work out on both ends. Don’t you think?”

“Is that all you want?” he asked her, watching her carefully.

She looked at him questioningly. “What’re you on about now?”

“Is freedom all you want?” She didn’t answer, drinking her coffee instead. He knew that she was avoiding the question. “Ginevra…?”

“Yes, alright? That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Go ahead and mock me for it. I don’t care.”

A silence fell between them as he watched her. She was the only daughter and the baby of the Weasley family; her parents and brothers didn’t exactly give her much room to breathe. He had been too preoccupied with tormenting the trio to notice that the youngest Weasley was also the most stifled. The silence lasted for a long while, long enough for Ginny to finish her coffee and almost half her pastry.

“So, what are we doing here, anyway?” she finally asked.

“Drinking frou-frou coffee, I thought,” he answered cheekily, attempting to lighten the mood. It seemed to work, at least a bit.

“I mean, did you want to talk or just get out?” she asked, subconsciously biting her lip as she picked up her empty cup. He considered her silently for a few moments. She did not want to talk, surely not to him at least, so he shrugged.

“It’s up to you, Ginevra,” he told her, reaching across the table to pick at her half-eaten pastry. She pursed her lips at him as he sat back in his chair, stuffing the bit of food in his mouth in a clumsy but somehow elegantly suave way. It was the way he seemed to do everything, she noticed; the everyday Draco way. She mentally kicked herself for caring enough to notice things like this about Draco Malfoy.

“Why do you call me that?” she asked, feeling awkward.

“It’s your name. Or do we need to have a talk about that, specifically?” he teased. She smiled at him without realizing it.

“What I meant was-”

“Everyone else calls you Ginny?” he finished for her. “I know what you meant. I don’t call you that because . . . well . . . I’m not quite sure why.”

“Why don’t you shorten it a bit and just call me Gin?” she suggested. “I mean, really, Ginevra is quite a long name for someone as small as I.” He rolled his eyes, letting the corners of his lips turn up into a small smile. She tilted her head as she looked at him.

“You should do that more often,” she said.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“Smile.” she paused. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile, not genuinely, anyway,” she said. He watched her painted black fingernails gently scrape the pale, freckled skin of her cheek as she spoke.

He had neglected to observe how she had matured since they had first met. Her body had gone from that of a child to that of a young woman, now sixteen. The way she held herself alone was enough to show the world that she had been through enough to be considered more than just a silly girl.

“What?” she laughed when he didn’t respond. His eyes met hers for a moment, and then dropped to the table.

“I was so busy tormenting you at school that I didn't notice you’re not the girl you were the first days of my second year. I seem not to be the only who never comprehended it, though.” She watched his lips move as he spoke. They were thin and chapped from dehydration, but functional as they uttered the words that no one else would.

She set her cup down, looking towards the tile floor. “You’ve noticed how people treat me, then? Like I’m a childish little girl who knows nothing of how the world works or what could happen if I let my guard down?” she scoffed, shaking her head slightly. He listened to her silently as she went on.

“No one wants to see me grow up! My brothers are so overprotective of me I’m surprised I can use the loo without their consent or supervision, or that they don't attempt to pulverize the soap for touching me. I’m not even exaggerating!” she said as he looked at her slightly incredulously. “You’ve met them; don’t even act like they wouldn’t try. Then there’s Mum and Dad. They worry about me so much I’m not sure if it’s good parenting or just fear of losing someone else to the war.

“Then there’s Hermione. I love the girl; she’s a fantastic friend. But there’s only so much a person can tolerate. And Harry acts as if he owns me, it seems. Not all the time, mind you, just most of it. Then, on top of that, every other person in that damned place seems to think I’m going to run off and become a Death Eater if I walk out the door. That is, if I’m not attacked first.” She shook her head, lost in thought. “You seem to be the only person who somewhat gets it. A bit depressing, isn’t it? You know, considering you haven’t really even been around.”

He watched her for a moment before speaking. “They care for you, Ginevra.” She shot him a look. “Gin,” he corrected.

“That may be. However, I prefer to breathe when I’m around people. With everyone swooping in on me it’s a bit difficult to do so.”

“I know what you mean,” he answered, looking out the window at the street, thinking back. “Are you ready to go back?” he asked, turning his gaze back to her. She wrinkled her nose at the thought, making him smirk, and nodded her head in reply. “Well then let’s go,” he said, pursing his lips and standing up.

She looked up at him, sighing, and impulsively she reached out to squeeze his hand as she stood up. She let go and turned around to make her way between the tables and out the door. He followed not far behind, his fingers tingling with the memory of her touch. It felt something like the burn of a hot pan or the numbness of a limb cut off from circulation.

They snuck back into the house undetected. It was getting a bit late. They had been gone longer than either had expected. They hoped no one would hear the stairs beneath their feet as they crept up to bed. Luckily, no one did. They made their way to the door to Ginny’s room and stood there awkwardly.

“Well . . . night then,” Ginny said after a few moments of silence had passed. She watched Draco look to the ground and then up again at her, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. She stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind her as he walked away. Once the door was closed, she sighed, leaning her back against it and sliding down to the floor. She let her head loll back against the wood as she gazed around the room. Her eyes stopped at the fireplace. Much to her surprise, a boy stood there. “Harry?” she asked, sounding a bit unsure.

He was glaring at her in the dark, his green eyes burning into her brown ones with an intensity that was almost vicious. She had seen that glare often throughout the six years he and Ron had been friends. But this was the first time she could remember its being directed at her and her alone, and she was startled by it. She shuddered slightly, looking at him questioningly.

“Don’t give me that look, Ginny,” he told her as they stood in stony silence. The lit logs in the fireplace gave her enough light to see his fists clenched at his sides. His knuckles were turning white from the pressure. She swallowed, not understanding what exactly had made him so upset with her.

“You have some nerve, you know,” he said after a while. “Going off and gallivanting with that prat in times like these. Of all people, I thought you understood how dangerous and manipulative Voldemort could be. Did you forget your first year completely? Is the Chamber of Secrets just filed away in secret somewhere deep in that silly little head of yours?” He was being rude now, even downright mean. She bit the corner of her lip, tearing away at a layer of skin with her teeth as he spoke. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

She watched as he began to pace. Those eyes that had once made her melt when they flashed towards her even for a split-second were now glaring bitterly at the floor panel as his feet made their way back and forth. His mouth was clenched. Gone was the smile that had made her go weak in the knees no matter what. She'd never seen him like this, and she didn't know exactly what to say.

“How could I forget something that traumatized me so deeply, Harry? That’s like accusing you of forgetting about the last task in the Triwizard Tournament. And I wasn’t gallivanting with anyone, by the way. I was simply taking a break from certain twits who happen to be suffocating me with an invisible pillow. Draco’s not—”

“Not what? Not using you to just get to me for Voldemort?” he spat, stopping to stand up straight and look at her. She met him with a glare. Ginny's glare typically made even her brothers afraid. But not Harry; no, he simply stood there watching and waiting. She wasn’t sure what exactly he was waiting for, but she knew he was.

“You need to back off, Harry! What I do in my spare time is none of your or anyone else’s business. Get me?”

“How do you figure that?” He took a few long strides forward until he was towering over her, looking down.

Grabbing the door handle to pull herself up from where she had been sitting against the door, she took one step so that she was staring up at him, the bridge of her nose less than an inch from his chin. “We’re not together anymore, Wonder Boy. You dumped me at Dumbledore’s funeral. Remember? You have no say in what I do or whom I do it with,” she snapped angrily. “What are you doing in my room anyhow?” Her tone was clipped, and she could feel her cheeks flushing.

For a moment, he didn't say anything. His expression softened as he stared down at her. “Don’t say it like that, Ginny. Please, don’t say it like that. I did what I did because I don’t want you to get hurt; I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he said, reaching his hand up and stroking her cheek with his thumb.

“What are you doing in my room?” she repeated, turning her head away.

His hand dropped, but his gaze remained fixed on her. “Your mum wanted me to see how you were feeling since you didn’t want to eat earlier.” She looked back up at him but didn’t say anything. He pointed his thumb over his shoulder to the made-up bed where a small brown package lay. He took the few steps to the door, but paused with his hand resting on the turned knob. “I didn’t say anything to anyone about your not being here. Fred and George will be by tomorrow, though. They owled your mum an hour or so ago from their shop . . .”

With that, he shut the door behind him without waiting for her to respond. She closed her eyes tightly, shoving a hand through her long fiery hair before making her way over to her bed. Sitting down on the edge, she rubbed her face, exhausted, and went straight to sleep.

Draco sat on the lumpy couch in the library with one leg folded and the other stretched out, leaning against the cushions. He debated sleep as he began to detail another drawing. This one depicted a manticore. The creature’s body was erect; the lion fur modestly shaggy while the scorpion-like tail curled slightly as the beast rested. The face of the manticore was not particularly handsome, but was a man’s face nonetheless, with dark, beady eyes and a short, rounded nose. He had drawn the creature a million times, and it always had the same face. He had no idea if it was from his imagination or some long-lost memory. Draco sighed, and his thoughts turned as he finished fixing the details on the drawing.

A knock at the door distracted him for a moment’s time, however. Glancing over his shoulder, he told whomever it was to enter, though he had heard the door shut before he'd even opened his mouth. He expected Hermione to be there, but when he turned to speak to her, he found himself staring at Harry, who was looking more than a bit upset. Draco raised his thin eyebrows as he stood up and set the drawing down on the couch. “What’s got your knickers in a twist, Potter?” he asked in a bored tone.

“What the hell is your problem?” Harry asked.

“Sorry, you’re being a bit vague. Don’t you think? I mean, really.”

“I told you she was mine; you have no business being with her. What did you do to her? Put her under the Imperius Curse? Give her a potion of some sort? What?” Harry was glaring at Draco as he spoke.

“That’s what this is about? You think I did something to your precious little doll and she might not be such a toy to you anymore?” Draco knew he was treading on eggshells here. “Look, you pissed her off, so she and I had a cup of coffee. I didn’t put a curse on her; I didn’t slip her anything; I didn’t shag her; I didn’t anything. She went of her own free will. I know you don't realize she has the ability to make her own decisions, and keeping her from leaving that tight little security blanket you force her into isn’t doing her any good anyhow.”

Harry swallowed. He wanted to scream millions of curses at Draco for just breathing. “You let her be out in the open where she could have been hurt, captured, or worse, Malfoy!” he reminded him through gritted teeth.

“No Death Eater would come to this part of muggle London, nitwit. Not now, and not for a girl. I don’t care if you trust me, Potter, but don’t even pretend to think you’ve been protecting her all this time by keeping her locked up in this place with everyone else.”

A knocking sound interrupted the argument, and both boys turned as the door opened to reveal Professor Lupin. He looked sickly, with bags under his eyes and scrapes and bruises covering all Draco could see of his body. He looked as if he hadn’t eaten much in the past few weeks; his clothes hung loosely on him. Being with Greyback’s lot had obviously taken a toll on him. He seemed to stagger slightly when he entered the room, looking quizzically at the adolescent boys.

“Might I bother to ask what you two are doing?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at them. Draco watched the patch on the elbow of his jacket fold gently as it began to sag; it would fall off soon. Harry shook his head, glaring at Draco from across the room. “I’d like to have a word with Mr. Malfoy here if you wouldn’t mind, Harry.”

Harry looked ready to argue, but he quickly closed his mouth at the look Professor Lupin gave him. Harry shut the door behind him with a loud click. Professor Lupin pulled out his wand and put a silencing charm on the room before speaking again. “I realize I haven’t exactly been here, so I really wouldn’t know what has been going on in this house. But I can tell when there’s too much tension between people. You and Harry will need to get over whatever school-related problems you have if you are to stay here. This is, after all, ultimately Harry’s house.” He paused a moment, taking a seat on the couch. Draco removed the sketchbook and set it discreetly on the table as his ex-professor continued. “We have never really seen eye to eye, per se, since I never had the knack for intermingling with everyone, including your family.”

Professor Lupin looked at him then, almost expectantly, but Draco remained silent. The professor pursed his lips, and then patted the cushion next to him on the couch, indicating for Draco to sit, and he obeyed. “I can see you don't really want to talk, which is fine, but I need you to talk whether you want to or not, if you don’t mind…” Remus had never been good at this sort of thing, and he knew as much, but he reached into his coat pocket nevertheless and uncorked a small vial. Professor Lupin indicated that Draco should open his mouth, and he complied. Then Professor Lupin poured three small drops of the colorless, odorless truth potion into his mouth.

“I hate to do this,” he said softly. “Why did you come to the Weasley’s home one month ago?” he asked in the same soft voice.

Draco’s voice was flat as he answered, “I came to ask for protection against the Dark Lord since I knew the Weasleys were part of the Order of Phoenix.”

“Was this act out of your own interest or the interests of your master’s plan?”

“It was of my own accord. I have been disowned by those who would call themselves my family.”

“Why have you been disowned, as you put it?”

“I could not fulfill the task that was set to me. I could not kill Dumbledore as the Dark Lord wished. Yes, Dumbledore was still murdered, but not by my wand. So I was punished. After years of training and working, I was dropped almost literally on my arse as a result of my failure,” Draco answered, his voice still the flat monotone he had begun with.

Professor Lupin looked at the boy before him. Draco was no more than seventeen, and he was already abandoned after being given a task that should never have been his. Voldemort was cruel; they all knew that from experience, but to use a mere child as a tool in such a horrible act was simply unfathomable. War was not a place for children, and they were too often tragically involved. Professor Lupin stared at the boy silently for a moment before continuing.

“What do you know about the next actions your master is planning?”

“He is not my master. I do not have a master,” Draco informed the professor in that same flat tone. “I know precious little of his plans. I am just a teenager after all. He would not entrust such information to me…”

Ginny tossed and turned in her bed, totally oblivious to the interview taking place a few rooms down the hall from her. Her long red locks were a tangled mess, falling gently on her shoulders as she sat up on the mattress and pulled her knees up so she could rest her elbows on them. Her tired eyes searched the empty blackness. She was cold in her thin pajama pants and shirt; the comforter was pulled up over her legs, but she shivered anyway. Pulling the covers away from her, she shoved her arms into the robe that was laid across the chair next to her nightstand. Unable to sleep, she located the fireplace and set it alight before making her way out of the room and down to the kitchen.

As she walked into the room, the tile cold on her feet, a small white and brown dog resembling a Jack Russell terrier looked up at her from near the stove. The dog stood on its paws, tilting its head at her in slight wonder, or so she supposed based on its expression. She smiled, calling it over before she crouched down to pet it. She noticed the missing tail and realized silently that it wasn’t a terrier at all. The crup looked up at her as she scratched just behind his ears.

“I see you’ve met Gus,” a deep, calming voice said from behind her. She looked up at Kingsley and nodded with a small, groggy smile.

“Is he yours?”

“Yep, a pain in the neck to keep track of, though.” He smiled down at her as she stood up. They stood there for a minute in silence before he asked, “Did I hear Harry and you going at it earlier?”

“Which time?” she asked, causing him to raise his brow at her questioningly. She sighed. “Harry and I don’t exactly have the same opinions as of late."

“Funny, I thought you two would’ve gotten hitched or something after you got together last year,” he told her. He watched her carefully avoid his eye as he spoke, making a point of watching the dog instead. He knew it was difficult for her although he did not fully understand the intricacies of it all.

“It’s not that I never saw that myself, you know. It’s just that I am seeing so much more clearly now, and I realize that we probably won’t get back together. I care for him; that ages ago I always have. But I stopped caring for him like.” She looked up at him. “I know no one has noticed I’m not a child anymore, but I’m not. Something I do understand, at least a smidge, is love and what it feels like to fall in and out of it.” Her lips pursed momentarily. “It was Harry’s choice, you know. Not mine. Not that I’m complaining that it's over. Not anymore, anyway.”

Kingsley was in a state of slight shock. He had known the small girl for almost two years now, and one thing she did not often do was open up. This explanation of her love life and how she felt about Harry was totally unexpected.

“Am I interrupting?” a feminine voice asked from the doorway. They turned to see a woman in her early twenties with hair the color of bubble gum. Ginny smiled at Tonks, uttering a quiet word of greeting. Kingsley seemed to go a bit stiff, but he relaxed after a moment and Ginny wasn't even sure she hadn't imagined it. “It’s a bit late, don’t you think, Ginny?” Tonks inquired as she walked over to the counter to pour herself some tea.

“Couldn’t sleep,” answered Ginny, bemused. Nymphadora Tonks was not known for being necessarily mature or grown up. For her to be telling Ginny to go to bed was rather uncharacteristic to stay the least. Ginny shrugged off her confusion; oddities were all too common in recent times. “Why the late visit?” she asked in a lighter tone.

“Came by to see Remus before going off on another mission,” Tonks answered almost dreamily, grinning. Ginny felt Kingsley go stiff again at the mention of her coming to see Remus. Ginny made a mental note to ask him about it the next time she had the chance. “Where is he anyhow?”

“I’m not sure,” Ginny said. Tonks nodded slightly, sipping her tea, and looked at Kingsley.

“He’s a bit busy at the moment,” he answered, causing Tonks to quirk a violet eyebrow at him.

“Busy doing what?”

“Why don’t you ask your puppy dog when he’s through?” Kingsley shot. Ginny gaped up at him. Kingsley was usually so calm and stoic; it was bizarre to see him losing his composure like this.

“Could I talk to you for a moment in private?” Ginny asked him. He looked down at her and nodded slightly.

“Someone’s a bit snippy this evening,” Tonks muttered as they left the room.

They entered the sitting area and Ginny spun around to look at Kingsley. “What was that about?” she asked, confusion lacing its way through her voice. “I thought you and Tonks were mates. What happened?”

Kingsley didn’t answer. His olive skin looked darker than it had a moment before; the light was dimmer in here and it no longer glistened on the hairless skin of his scalp. He looked down at her as if he wanted to tell her something, but the words never came.

“Well?” she prodded.

“It’s nothing, Ginny,” he told her. His voice, calming as it was, took on certain gruffness in his response. She stared at him, debating silently whether or not to continue her questioning.

“Did you and Lupin have a thing?” she asked suddenly. Kingsley’s gaze locked with hers. He didn’t have to say anything. She knew the answer already. “Figures. Why didn’t you say anything, you stupid bloke?” she nearly shrieked at him. He laughed at her enthusiasm.

“It doesn’t matter, Ginny. He and Tonks are at unofficial relationship status. He’s moved on,” he told her.

She continued to stare incredulously up at him. “Doesn’t seem like you are."

“Ginny.”

“I’m not going to do anything! I’m just saying. Maybe you should . . . you know . . . talk to him if you haven’t already? I love Tonks dearly, but if you’re not going to fight for Remus then forget him,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Get on to bed, will you?” he told her, evading the subject.

“Ooo, nice way to avoid the topic,” she joked as he shoved her gently out of the room. He could hear her laughing all the way upstairs.

Kingsley shook his head, listening to the floorboards overhead creak under her weight, and sat down in one of the large armchairs. His fingers absently played with a hole in the arm where the stuffing was falling out.

“Only Ginny . . .” he muttered to himself.